


A Chance For Something New

by BethNoir



Series: The Shards of Ice [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 18:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18816409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethNoir/pseuds/BethNoir
Summary: Jaime Lannister is called upon to answer for his sins, both public and private.





	A Chance For Something New

**Author's Note:**

> And now our watch of “well, here’s how I would have done it” begins…
> 
> I genuinely hoped it would have ended like Henry V, but, sigh, the things we do because of limited views of character development. I still enjoyed the episode, but I had this backlogged just in case.

The girl stood in front of the Iron Throne. She wouldn’t sit in it. She had already decided what should happen to it. The population of King’s Landing had been through enough. The smiths could dismantle the throne later, when it was put aside and enough of the common folk wondered when the council would do something about it. Let it be their decision. For now, she stood eye level with him, flanked by Stannis’s hand, the small Mormont, the ginger wildling, the Greyjoy Queen, the Dornish Prince, Robert’s bastard, and Bronn of Highgarden, smirking his arse off.

Jaime couldn’t stop staring at Sansa Stark because he didn’t know why the look on her face bothered him. She held his fate in her hands. He was clapped in irons before the survivors, in the ruins of King’s Landing. The smell of burning flesh and rot hung in clouds over the city. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache, and he was sure he was still bleeding from somewhere. But he remained fixated on the steely gaze of the woman who once wanted to marry his son. And that was it.

He had last seen this look on his father: practical, and methodical. Had they ever met? Where had she unlearned all of Littlefinger’s bad habits and gathered all of Tywin’s good ones? It turned his nerves to needles and his guts to jelly, but deciphering his fate in the cold eyes of Lady Stark of Winterfell, was a thousand times less frightening than to see if Brienne was even in the room.

“Ser Jaime,” said Sansa. “You’ll forgive me if I have trouble understanding why you abandoned your place in King’s Landing, rode hundreds of miles north to Winterfell to defend the living, only to turn right around when it was all over.”  
“I don’t deny it.”  
“You seem to have difficulty deciphering where your loyalties lie. Did they no longer matter to you once the fight against the dead was over?”  
“It was all that mattered to me…”  
“Ser Brienne…”

Oh, if Jaime felt fear before, it was only a whisper of terror compared to the violence that tore through him now. It made him want to howl and vomit up his skeleton and have his flesh peel from his body so he wouldn’t have to hear anything next.

“At any point in the Long Night, did Ser Jaime abandon the cause?”  
“No, My Lady.”  
“Did he falter or express regret for leaving King’s Landing?”  
“Not to me, My Lady.”  
“Do you know why he left in the middle of the night to return to King’s Landing?”  
“…it baffles me.”

The droning of questions continued. Their voices changed in pitch and tone. He thought Bronn was delighting in sarcasm, only to discover it was the Mormont girl. Maybe he was bleeding out. At least it would mean he would die and he wouldn’t have to discover just how disgusted she was with him. A true coward to the end, just like they’d all said.

“Ser Jaime,” said Lady Stark. “We’ve heard from the council, but I wonder if we might hear from you.”

“As long as I was in Winterfell, I was hiding from a fight. As long as I was safe in the north, the people I cared about wouldn’t be.”  
“So you came to King’s Landing to protect them? From the armies of the Seven Kingdoms?”  
“I came to King’s Landing to put a stop to it.”

Gods protect Podrick Payne, who agreed to help with this. He looked queasy holding the small chest, but stepped before the council.

“It’s a sickness,” Jaime said. “And I was contributing to the cause as long as I left it alone. I returned to King’s Landing to put a stop to it. My only regret is I didn’t do it before I left.”

Podrick put the chest on the ground and opened the lid. The old Baratheon courtiers would have swooned and screamed. Over the last few days, death was as close as a lover. The pale specter and pale shrouds taking the place of countless lost family members. The only vocal confirmation of the contents was Bronn’s, “fucking ‘ell.” There inside the chest was Cersei’s severed head.

There was the head he had held in his hands so many countless times, pink lips he’d kissed, eyes that gazed upon him in lust and dread and anger, and it might as well have been a painted rock. Only the flesh was beginning to puff and the skin was starting to sag. Decades of intimacy and it left him without a feeling in the world except for why he’d waited so long to swing the sword. He could have spared them all of this. He could have spared them Joffrey. But when had he ever had a moment without Cersei’s grip around his neck or his cock? If he could have a life anywhere apart from her?

“Do you feel this redeems you, Ser Jaime?”  
“Your Grace-“  
“You’re addressing the Warden of the North,” came that cold, clear voice. “There is no Queen in King’s Landing.”  
“My apologies,” said Jaime. He couldn’t say “forgive me” unless it was meant for her. And if he made it out of the room alive, he’d give anything for a moment with her to make this right.  
“Go on,” said Lady Stark.  
“My redemption is not for me to say. I live in judgment of the living. That I might have their mercy, and their forgiveness I did nothing to stop this sooner. I wanted to protect the ones I cared for because they would not be safe as long as Cersei lived.” He wasn’t sure if he would say this correctly, but wanted to try.

“I didn’t feel worthy of the new life I was given unless I’d taken steps to make amends for my old one.” It wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to say, but it was close. “And it’s something I expect to be doing for whatever’s left of my life.”

“You once said you killed the Mad King to save the city from his destruction,” said Lady Stark. “Is that right?”  
“I did.”  
“What was it he said?”  
“…’burn them all.’”

The civilians said nothing mocking or cruel. They were courtiers and commoners, all alike in their rags that smelled of burning flesh. The only way the dead could be embraced was to breathe in the pieces of them that drifted in the air. Jaime stopped the first siege of King’s Landing. It had fallen on the rest of them to stop the second, and here they were in the ruin of the Red Keep.

“Ser Jaime,” said Lady Stark, “I release you from your service. You will never serve in any kingsguard again, or wield any sword. I release you to live in reflection of your actions, be it Casterly Rock or anywhere else that would have you.”

He wouldn’t be returned to his cell. She didn’t need to confer with the others. It had already been decided. Was it something she’d discussed with them before? Did she have to barter for it? Someone came to loose the cuffs from his wrists and Lady Stark called for the meeting to be adjourned.

“Thank you,” Jaime mumbled. The man said nothing and left to join the others.

Jaime wondered how he was meant to leave the room, and realized it would be with the rest of the common men. They were all too tired and hungry and sad to call him “Kingslayer”. When he finally looked up to see the Council of the Kingdoms conferring among themselves, a tall figure in a cobalt blue cape, a thick fur collar, and her shock of icy blonde hair, left the room

The body of the last Targaryen was cast into the sea. Ned Stark’s bastard was riding north of the wall and would never be seen again. The Iron Throne would be taken apart, blade by blade, and melted down into scrap. The wheel that turned the conflict in the kingdoms was finally broken. It was over. Maybe something new would take its place. Something always would, but for now, let them all wonder how to have a little peace.

And Jaime would have none if he couldn’t speak with her.

The crowds dispersed. Jaime thought to leave quietly with them, but the corridors never lead to the private chambers. He turned to see Lady Stark looking at him. She knew.

Lady Stark glanced to her men, nodded, and turned back to the council. They would let him pass. Jaime couldn’t believe his fortune. All the mercy and goodness laid at his feet this past month would go to waste if he didn’t use it and he never wanted to abuse people of that again.

But when Jaime passed the North Men into the hallways of the keep he once called home, his tongue froze and his feet were lashed to the floor by fear. There was Brienne of Tarth, walking away from him, possibly for the rest of his life.

He couldn’t say her name. For all the times he disgraced himself and his honor, he couldn’t bear to profane her name by speaking it with his mouth. All he could manage was to beg in a soft and stilted voice.

“Please…”

She stopped, and wouldn’t turn all the way to him. She said nothing, but the words were caught in Jaime’s throat and someone had to fill the silence.

“Your brother came to me,” she said. “After you left…I think he wanted to apologize for his own behavior, or maybe yours, but he decided the way to do it was say, ‘the one time you didn’t sleep with your armor on…’”

Oh Gods, all the years she actually had to do that. All the years she was terrified of that violence, and he did her another kind by violating her trust and breaking her heart. The one time she’d actually opened up to it.

“Nothing? No Lannister ripostes?” she asked. “’Please’ what?”

Again, his fear captured his speech like a fist was in his throat to gather all the words on their way out. Brienne sighed hard and spoke harshly.

“Well, if you’re not going to say anything, I suppose I should.” She turned all the way to him. “How did you think this was going to end?” She wanted answers. Jaime’s tongue was free to give them.  
“I thought the Night would come later. Thought we’d have already ridden south. That I’d keep my words to myself…”

He’d rehearsed it like vows. They’d be separated in battle, but after he killed Cersei, he’d have found her, tired, possibly wounded, and gone to her laughing, relieved, beside himself that she was alive. And he’d have kissed her then. When everything was sealed and safe. When she would finally be safe from Cersei. Maybe they’d be laughing and smarting from battle, but they’d be happy. If she didn’t survive, he didn’t have a plan for after, but at least he wouldn’t have a reason to stay.

“And then what?” she asked. She was so furious with him now.

“You need trust to have a truce,” he reminded Brienne, “and I left without giving you the truth, or my trust. I left without trusting your judgment. I left thinking you’d come running after me, insist on keeping me safe and coming with me to fight when I wanted you to be safe in Winterfell until I returned.”  
“I was in my dressing gown, of course I ran…” she stopped herself from going further.  
“You’re sworn to protect Lady Stark.” Jaime stated. “You wouldn’t have left her for a moment. Your honor and nobility…your virtues…” He wasn’t sure how to put it. Brienne offered a suggestion.  
“You couldn’t possibly hope to be as noble and virtuous and honorable as me? Something as saccharine as that?”  
“That’s not it.”  
“Then say something honest. Pedestals are for marble, not people. Give yourself the same thoughtfulness.”  
“Your goodness brings out the best in people.”

A long, worrying silence, and then a sniff. He looked up to see her sniffling, then look at him with such withering contempt he was sure it would kill him.

“You think I’m ugly.”  
“No.”  
“That’s where my mind went. Of all the juvenile places, he thinks I’m ugly.”  
“No!” Jaime protested.  
“Got Brienne the Beauty out of her clothes and discovered she was too mannish, too broad shouldered, ungainly, coarse featured, straw haired, emasculating, and unattractive.”

Brienne finally approached him. It wasn’t with a loving embrace or sharp words. It was cold, ugly truth, swung like a truncheon so the dying would feel dull pain and long suffering. She towered over him. She wanted him to feel small. They weren’t very much different in height, but Jaime realized he was crouching. He wanted to be on his knees before her, to beg her forgiveness. It seemed unworthy of him to stand.

“If it isn’t that I’m ugly, then I’m too innocent. It was a bet between you and your brother. Who’s to saddle the pig first?”

Jaime couldn’t protest his own innocence. For every cruel thought he’d had of Brienne in their early meetings, it couldn’t rival the hundreds of thousands that crawled through her head like lice ever since she was told by those around her that her worth was less for not looking like them. Every moment she had to fight it from others was unrivaled to those ghosts that never left her be.

“But no,” said Brienne. “It’s my goodness.”  
“It frightened me,” Jaime admitted, “not only for what it brought out in me, but that it left you vulnerable. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of fighting. I knew I’d be fighting Cersei in my heart and through her soldiers as long as she lived. If I didn’t cut the cancerous thing out of me, it would have stayed forever.”  
“Is that how you talk of all the women you love?”  
“You can’t love someone if you never had a chance to love another.” Jaime insisted, “All I had to do was cleave my sister’s neck to be free of her hold on me, but she kept an invisible chain around my own. That fear, that terror of how you’re exposed to others, I know it.”  
“Never as deeply as I know mine.”  
“If I betray your trust again,” he said, “have Lady Stark kill me. If I ever falter from keeping your faith, let her sister be the one to do it. They’re the ones who love you most and it would be my privilege to be among them.”  
“Will you swear oaths before all the gods and men of the land to never do it again?”  
“I break my oaths,” Jaime said. “All the time. I don’t want a recitation of words to prove myself to you. Let it be my actions.”  
“Then what do you want to do, Jaime Lannister?”

For one fleeting moment, he wanted to continue cowering at her feet; to show his weakness and manifest all his cowardice in a ball on the floor, but who wanted a future tending to that?

His knees creaked, and they would have done that even without the toil of battle. His ribs were still bruised, his stitches pinched, but he made himself stand before her. To be her equal and someone worthy of her.

“I want to get old with you, Ser Brienne of Tarth. If you’ll have me. I couldn’t imagine what’s left of my life without you.”

She looked at him the same as when he’d left. With hurt, confusion, and disbelief at the words that came from him.

“I’m so tired,” she said, and crumpled to the floor. Before she could even sit, Jaime had caught her hand in his.

“Careful…” he murmured. He hadn’t meant to grab her hand without asking. He’d been paralyzed at the idea of even speaking to her, but he couldn’t have her fall.

Jaime kneeled beside her, the cobalt blue of her cloak pooled out around her like water from a broken fountain. She stared at him with a weariness that could see for a thousand meters.

First she gave him her time, to listen to what he might say, even when she had to fill the space for him. Then she unburdened all her fears and revealed her weaknesses. And now she showed him a weariness he’d never seen in all their years together. She was moral, steadfast, and noble, but the years she escaped all manner of violence, nothing had tested her like the breaking and mending of her heart, and the destruction of her country. And he was the person she still chose to be vulnerable to.

Brienne touched his face, feeling the bristle of beard and the warmth of his skin, holding him and staring at him.

“I thought you hated me,” she said, “And then I thought you were dead. I don’t know which was worse.”  
“Neither,” said Jame, “and never.” And that’s what finally let her cry.  
“Stay…” she asked him. For the first time in his life, Jaime felt he could put down his sword. He slumped to his knees, wrapped his arms around her chest, and buried his face in her neck. She was a sea of deep blue with a sea foam of wolf’s fur around her neck, and Jaime’s arms beneath it. He’d never felt safer. No castle of Casterly Rock, nor shelter-half on the Kingsroad felt like home unless he was there in Brienne’s arms.

She wore cornflower blue, the color of the most precious sapphires, even if none were to be found on the island. But the flowers were and she wore them in her hair. It made her eyes shimmer as deeply as the Straits, but it was more likely from the happiness. 

The marriage wasn’t some secret thing like his bond with the one before. It was a private affair for two quiet adults. The septon was discreet, and their friends sent their blessings. A brooch of sparrow feathers from her friend, and the vows re-written by his friend to seem like he was the clever Lannister.

She remained in the service of Lady Stark when she was in King’s Landing on business, but spent enough time in Winterfell and Tarth. Often times the older folk saw her husband, a happy man missing a golden hand. And when she grew too old to swing a sword, they retired to the island and let their young family represent them on the mainland.

The gods gave you mercy, Jaime Lannister. You are released from the bonds of men and into the service of her happiness. Keep it, protect it, cherish it. For it was all that saved your life.


End file.
